No one expects people with disabilities to have a family

Cerebral palsy didn't rob Aideen Blackborough of the desire to become a mother - but she faced other obstacles, from prejudice to logistics and, not least, her own fears

Aideen Blackborough's mum and dad's attitude to her disability was to see her as simply another of their four children - and because of this "just bloody well get on with it" attitude, Aideen grew up assuming that becoming a mother herself was something that would just happen. "I'd always wanted to be a mum, find the man of my dreams, have several children and live happily ever after," she says. "My disability didn't rob me of those maternal wants."

Today, Aideen is, indeed, a mum - to Jack, a two-year-old bundle of energy who's at nursery when I visit her at home in Birmingham. A large picture of him as a baby is on the wall behind Aideen - he's beaming at me throughout our conversation.

But how does a woman with cerebral palsy, and the physical challenges that poses - reduced mobility, exaggerated muscle spasms and slower speech - overcome the inevitable obstacles on the way to parenthood, let alone deal with a successful outcome - namely, a happy, healthy, sometimes truculent toddler?

Perhaps there is something in the way she was brought up - her parents ignored advice and refused to send her to a special school. "They knew, quite rightly, I'd be plonked in a wheelchair in front of a telly and would never learn anything. They knew that although my body didn't work so well, there was nothing wrong with my brain," says Aideen, who is now 32.

Thanks to her family, she achieved well at mainstream school, got a degree and a job, met and married her husband, Dean - all before she was 30. But that makes it sound easier than it was. What, for example, did Dean make of her disability when they first met?

She admits that she expected Dean to "run a mile" when she told him about her condition and, on their first date, after a month-long online courtship, she was terrified that he wouldn't be able to understand her.

Aideen laughs when she remembers the evening. "When our food arrived, he instinctively offered to help me cut it up. There was no awkwardness between us. I just knew he was genuine and he understood everything I said.

She was worried, too, about what Dean's friends and family would make of her. "How would they react to the news that his new girlfriend had cerebral palsy and used a wheelchair? I felt like I had to prove myself; prove that I was good enough for him; prove that I wasn't looking for a carer but for a loving relationship, like anone else."

It's this desire to be "just like anyone else" that lies at the heart of Aideen's attitude to life."My disability has always been irrelevant to me," she stresses. "It hasn't held me back or stopped me fulfilling all of my dreams. Over the years, people have often asked me if I wished things had been different, or if I would prefer to be able-bodied. And the simple answer is no. My life wouldn't be what it is today if I didn't have cerebral palsy."

Once married, the decision to try for a family was a hard one for Aideen and Dean. Her dreams, sobered by maturity, became doubts. "How on earth would I meet the needs of a demanding newborn, an adventurous toddler or a stroppy teenager? I kept my thoughts to myself. I was terrified that someone would confirm my fears and tell me I wouldn't cope." She remembers her mother gesturing to her tantrumming nephew and nieces and reminding her that there would be times like that for her, should she become a mother herself.

There were also the physical demands of pregnancy to consider. "We didn't know how it would affect me. Dean didn't want me to have a baby if it would have an adverse effect on me, long term. He said if it did, then we wouldn't have children. I agreed with him - but it was hard to face up to the fact that maybe I couldn't. Once I was pregnant and we had the backing of my consultant - who told us there was no reason why I shouldn't carry and deliver a baby normally - that gave us huge reassurance. And knowing that every step of the way Dean supported and believed in what I was capable of was amazing. I felt validated as a woman, rather than a disabled woman."

She was also terrified. "My own birth had caused my condition, and I was, frankly, scared of the birth and of what might happen."

What did happen was that Aideen discovered just how little support there is for disabled pregnant women.

Hours of internet research to find an obstetrician who could help proved fruitless. So they went private and soon had the initial care she needed.

"I think people just don't expect people with disabilities to have a family, and it's certainly not an issue up for discussion," she says. "I remember excitedly telling my doctor's receptionist I was pregnant as soon as I'd had it confirmed. "Oh dear," she said, as if this was terrible news.

"But mostly, people were brilliant - surprised, but pleased."

Aideen suffered from "morning, noon and night sickness" and did physiotherapy to strengthen her body for the later stages of pregnancy and the delivery. "Dean kept on telling me that I would do it and could do it, that we would find ways to do things my way," she says. Jack was born in their local hospital in Birmingham with some intervention soon after Aideen was induced. "They lost his heartbeat a couple of times - they weren't taking any risks." It was an emotional experience for Aideen, especially in light of her own birth and its consequences. "My biggest fear was history repeating itself," she remembers.

Early days with Jack were the same as they would be in any house with a new baby - chaotic, happy and tiring - with some extra logistics thrown in as Aideen and Dean adjusted to life with Jack. She mastered feeding, lifting and cuddling, and developed her own way of moving from room to room by pushing Jack along in his moses basket - and wearing holes in the knees of her jeans. Later on, a sling worked better. Later still, Jack was secure in a harness attached to her in her wheelchair.

Routine things such as getting him out of his cot, or feeding him without throwing food all over the place, became logistical puzzles to conquer. "I was always eager to prove to people and more importantly, to myself, that I could look after Jack. It was my decision to have a child - I needed to show I could do it."

Dean and Aideen worked around looking after Jack, each taking a morning or afternoon shift. She wrote her memoir, Does It Wet the Bed?, the title referring to something a nun had said to her mother about Aideen as a young child. "My mum was livid and tore her off a strip!"

After a lifetime of it, she's well-used to this unconscious prejudice. Registering Jack's birth was marred by the rudeness of the registrar, who, failing to understand Aideen as she grappled with a small baby, ignored her for the rest of the process. "Dean told her she was being ignorant, but she insisted that only one person needed to sign. In other words, despite being Jack's mum, I was surplus to requirements."

Now Jack is older and at nursery four days a week, Aideen is building up her business - she runs training courses in disability awareness and diversity for businesses and the public sector. Now she wants to do more work with schools to help children understand disability. "I think it's important that children know from a young age that it's OK to talk about it and accept that we are all different," she says. "If they get it when they're kids, then they will when they're adults," she reasons.

"I wouldn't change my cerebral palsy; it's made me who I am. During my life, there have been hundreds of times when I've overheard children asking why I'm in a wheelchair. Usually, the parents are embarrassed and worried about offending me, but children need the time and space to ask questions and get an honest answer. We can have all the laws and legislation in world, but none of that helps if people are scared of people like me."